


Love's a Bitch

by calabash



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, its middle school all over again!, two grown men having a sleepover and talking about crushes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-06-08 00:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15231630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calabash/pseuds/calabash
Summary: Grif and Tucker spend some time together, doing what they do best: complaining.





	1. Could You Be Any More Cliché?

**Author's Note:**

> I always loved the weird dynamic between Grif and Tucker; they're supposed to be enemies, but have really similar personalities. Among the Blood Gulch Crew, it seems like these two cared about the war the least, so I can't help but imagine that they secretly hang out when Church and Sarge aren't looking and end up really close friends. Even though they go back to trying to kill each other like an hour later.
> 
> So that's pretty much with this fic is about, plus some romance on the side for added flavor. I hope you enjoy!

“Dude, I think I have a crush on Church.”

Grif froze in place, one arm still reaching for his bottle of beer as he stared incredulously at Tucker. They had been sitting on top of Blue base for quite a while, their armor discarded to the side, drinking idly and chatting about everything and nothing. It was dark out, with only the distant stars illuminating the canyon. In truth, Tucker was _supposed_ to be keeping watch for the enemy – meaning Grif – but since Grif had brought a cooler of beers for them to share, Tucker figured he was exempt.

At Tucker's admission, Grif had been at a loss for words. “...For real?” he managed after a moment.

“For real,” Tucker said, sighing dramatically as he took a swig from his own bottle. “I catch myself, like, staring at him all the time and shit.”

Grif was silent, taking a drink from his beer and nodding in understanding. After lowering the bottle, he reached out to Tucker, placing a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

“Tucker, I'm going to say this as nicely as I can,” he began. “That is the absolute worst choice you could have made.”

“Fuck off,” said Tucker dismissively, knocking Grif's hand off his shoulder.

“I can't stress this enough,” Grif continued, replacing his hand. “Out of all the dickheads in this canyon, you chose the dickiest. Even fucking Caboose is a better choice than Church.”

“Listen, Caboose might be an idiot,” Tucker countered, “but you can't deny that he is also the hottest man to walk the fucking earth.”

“God, that's so true,” he conceded, releasing his hold on Tucker to get another beer. “And also the dumbest. That shit just isn't fair.”

“Anyway, it wasn't my choice,” Tucker said. “I just catch myself thinking about him, like, _all_ the time. I thought it was because he pissed me off at first, but I don't think fantasizing about fucking someone you hate is something people do.”

“Speak for yourself,” Grif retorted. “That's pretty much my entire life experience.”

Tucker couldn't help but snicker at that. “Yeah, no kidding,” he replied. Grinning smugly, he added, “How's it going with Simmons, by the way?”

“Fuck you, dude,” he shot back, shoving Tucker with just a hint of roughness. “That's a low blow.”

“Oh, come on, you asked for that shit,” Tucker jeered, nudging Grif with his arm. “I've only had a crush on Church for, like, two months. You've been in love with Simmons for, what, ten years?”

“We haven't even _been_ here for ten years!”

“Exactly. That's exactly the point.”

Grif let out a loud, heaving sigh as he flopped back onto the cold concrete roof. “God, this shit is annoying.”

“Tell me about it,” Tucker agreed. “And keep it down. I don't need your fat ass waking up Church's fat ass so he can bitch at me for twenty minutes about how we're at war or whatever.”

“We're grown ass men, and we have crushes on our friends like teenagers,” Grif continued, ignoring Tucker's comment. He gazed up distantly at the stars, and there was a harshness in his voice when he bit out, “It's so fucking stupid."

Tucker paused. There was a hint of seriousness within what Grif had said, a genuine emotion creeping through his self-deprecating schtick. He considered his options for a moment, before lying next to Grif gently, turning to face him as he decided that he had enough of a buzz going to get into his feelings.

“That's what happens when you're stranded on a shitty alien planet with ten other people,” he finally responded. “We don't have much choice.”

“Yeah. I know,” Grif said. He fell silent for a moment, but in a quieter, more sincere voice, he added, “But I think I would've fallen for Simmons anyway. If we weren't stuck here, I mean.”

Tucker couldn't help the little chuckle that escaped him as his gaze fell on Grif's pensive face; it wasn't a mocking laugh, but one of mirth. “Dude, that's so gay.”

“Fuck you, you asshole,” Grif replied, turning to look at Tucker with his face still flushed and an unmistakable grin curling his lips. “You are literally gay. You're in love with a man.”

“First of all, I'm bi, you homophobe,” Tucker shot back, unable to keep the smirk off his face as Grif burst into laughter. “Second, you and Simmons are way better off than me and Church. At least you can have a conversation with him without wanting to kill him two minutes in.”

“That is such a lie,” he said, reaching for his bottle. “I want to kill Simmons even when I'm not talking to him. I want to kill him right now.” Having said this, he tilted the bottle forward to drink from it and missed, funneling cold beer down his shirt.

Tucker began howling at the sight, watching as Grif shot up from his spot on the roof, hurriedly shedding his soiled tank top. “That was fucking karma, dude,” he said between fits of laughter. “That was God punishing you.”

“God can go fuck himself, then!” Grif whined, now clothed in just a pair of sweatpants. “That was my last clean shirt!”

“Do your fucking laundry then, jackass.”

“That's Simmons's job. I don't get paid enough to do laundry.”

“You don't get paid at all.”

“Exactly. That's why I don't do anything.”

“You are such a shithead,” Tucker said jokingly, finishing the last swig of his bottle and setting it down. He grabbed his helmet, pausing as he gazed at Grif briefly, before replacing it on his head.

Grif noticed him staring. “What?”

Tucker hesitated. “You know,” he began, “Simmons is probably in love with you, too.”

He glanced away. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “I know.”

“So do something about it, idiot,” Tucker admonished. “Don't be those two losers that dance around each other for twenty years and just complain about it. Fucking tell him.”

“While I know you're right, you're also the same guy that thought the clitoris was where pee came from,” Grif countered. “So you can go fuck.”

“Why you gotta be like that, man?”

“Not my fault it's true.”

Tucker shook his head, rising to his feet. “Thanks for the beer. I'm probably gonna call it a night.”

“Thanks for hanging with me,” Grif said, following suit. “And hey, maybe you should take your own fucking advice, and tell Church you like him.”

“Don't count on it,” Tucker rebuffed. He activated the HUD on his helmet, wanting to check the time, and saw something that took him by surprise. “Oh.”

“What?”

“You'll never believe this. It's Valentine's Day on Earth.”

Grif let out an incredulous laugh. “No fucking way.”

“Deadass, dude. And while we were talking about all that romance-y shit, too.”

“I guess it was in our minds, then,” Grif concluded. “Like a virus.”

“Pretty shitty virus,” Tucker griped. “It didn't even kill us.”

“Ain't that the truth,” Grif said, chuckling. “Well, before I go, one last thing.” He bent down, picking up an empty bottle and holding it out to Tucker with a large, dopey grin on his face. “Happy Valentine's Day, man.”

Tucker picked up his own bottle, clinking it lightly against Grif's in cheers. It was cheesy, but he couldn't help the little smile that came over him. “Happy Valentine's.”

 

 


	2. Turns Out You Can, In Fact, Be More Cliché

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I was done with these two, but I honestly can't resist them. So I ended up turning this one-shot into something a little bit bigger than that! Also changed the rating from G to T, since the language is a little stronger than I meant for it to be. 
> 
> Takes place a little under two months after the first chapter. (You will soon find out why.)

“You're fucking with me, right?”

Grif shook his head in resignation, not meeting Tucker's eyes as he took an unreasonably large swig of his drink. “I wish I was, dude,” he responded dejectedly. “I wish I was.”

They were back at their usual night time shenanigans, sitting on the roof with some liquor and their grievances – unlike previous occasions, the drink of choice was tequila, and exactly like previous occasions, their problems were self-inflicted. The tequila was a rare find, one that Grif had insisted on saving for a special occasion, so Tucker was more than surprised when Grif bull-rushed Blue base at lightning speed, faster than he had ever seen him move, clutching the bottle to his chest so closely that, for a moment, Tucker had genuinely believed Grif was launching a one-man attack.

When Grif finally made it onto the rooftop, he began relaying the tale of his woes, shedding his armor haphazardly and plunking the large bottle of liquor onto the roof along with some questionably clean plastic cups. Upon hearing Grif's story, Tucker was stunned into speechlessness, reduced to staring in an incredulous, yet mocking type of shock, as if he didn't know whether to laugh at him or burst into tears on his behalf.

“So, let me see if I got this straight," he began. "You asked Simmons out today?”

Grif nodded absently, his gaze stretching far into the distance as he unscrewed the cap on the bottle. “Yep.”

“You asked him out _today?_   On _this_ particular day?”

“I did,” Grif confirmed, his expression pain-stricken as he filled his cup with tequila. He didn't even have a lime on the rim. That was the sign of a desperate man.

“Grif,” Tucker pressed, and the clear disappointment in his voice was probably the most honest he'd ever been in his life. “You mean to tell me, no bullshit, that you really confessed your feelings to the guy you've been in love with for years _today?_   On _April Fools' Day?”_

“I didn't fucking know!” Grif yelled, his face flushing in mortification as he snatched the bottle from Tucker's hands and took a massive pull.

“You already have a cup, jackass,” he chided, yanking the bottle back.

“It could not have gone any worse,” Grif barreled on, ignoring him. “It was the worst thing ever, Tucker. The fucking _worst_.”

“Okay, wait,” he interjected. “Start from the beginning. What exactly happened?”

Grif inhaled deeply, fingers trembling as he grabbed his cup off the ground and took a big swig, steeling himself before speaking. “So, I know I always say I'm gonna tell Simmons how I feel, but I never do,” he explained. “And today, I just kinda got sick of it. I'm always so full of shit, you know?”

“Who doesn't know?”

“Don't start, dude, I'm fucking dying here,” Grif whined. “Anyway, so today Simmons and I were watching a movie in my room, and we were having a really good time, and we were kind of cuddling, and he looked really cute, and I just. Let it slip. I told him that I liked him a lot, but like, in a romance-y way. And that I wanted to date him.”

Tucker quirked an eyebrow. That was pretty damn forward for a guy who still refused to tell anyone his first name. “And then?”

“And he just... made this weird face. Like, he looked confused, but then he got _pissed_ ,” Grif divulged, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And he got up and was like, 'You're a jackass', and he walked out. I had no idea what happened at first.”

“How did you not know what fucking day it is, dude?” Tucker admonished, taking a drink. “All our helmets say the time and day. What the hell gives?”

“Mine doesn't work, okay?” Grif fired back, looking so frazzled that Tucker was finding himself overwhelmed by his genuine distress. “I've tried everything to fix it, but it's fucked.” He rolled the helmet over to Tucker. “See for yourself.”

Tucker wasn't wearing his own armor, having chosen to stick to a pair of loose basketball shorts and a tank top instead, but the sensors should detect that he was wearing it regardless. Slipping it over his head, Tucker was surprised to find that the visor still did not light up. He knocked at it once or twice to try and force it, but as he did, what seemed to be a pile of crumbs and other greasy food residue tumbled out from a hole in the cushioning, smelling almost indescribably putrid.

Tearing the helmet off his head and tossing it carelessly on the ground, Tucker began coughing in disgust. “That's fucking _gross_ , Grif,” he gasped out through fits. “No wonder your HUD doesn't work - you keep fucking eating in your helmet!"

"I get hungry when we're doing patrol!" Grif fired back. "It's not my fault I forget about my secret helmet stash sometimes!"

Tucker shook his head, pushing the disgusting helmet toward Grif and taking a swig of tequila to flush out the rotten smell. “So how'd you find out what day it is, if your HUD is busted?” he asked. “There's no way you put two and two together on your own.”

“Well, I was in the kitchen like ten minutes ago, making some cereal with melted ice cream instead of milk,” he detailed. Seeing Tucker's horrified expression, he clarified, “Sadness food.”

“Of course."

“Anyway, when I went to get a spoon, they were all gone,” Grif continued. “And then Donut popped out of the cabinet under the sink and was like, 'April Fools!'”

“How long was he waiting in there?”

“Fuck if I know. Anyway, he told me it was April Fools' Day and asked how I was gonna prank him and Simmons,” he finished with a sigh, “and that's when I realized what happened.”

“Man, that really fucking sucks,” Tucker concluded, patting Grif's back pityingly. “Nothing's ever easy for you, is it?”

Grif scowled, trying to hide his dismay, but his petulant expression made him look more like a pouting child. Fitting. “At least I actually did it,” he pointed out. “You still haven't had the balls to tell Church you want him.”

“And I never will,” Tucker countered. “I'm gonna carry that shit with me until I die.”

“Yeah, cause _that's_ the best way to get your crush to like you.”

“Stop calling it a _crush_ , dickhead,” Tucker demanded, grateful that his dark skin mostly masked his flushing face. “I'm a grown ass man!”

Grif snorted. “A grown ass man with baby's first crush.”

Tucker groaned, hiding his embarrassment with another swig of his liquor. “You are so fucked. This is why your dumbass decided that today, of _all days_ , was your best chance to win over your fucking dream guy.”

“It's whatever. I don't even care,” Grif grumbled, visibly caring a great deal as he gulped down his drink and poured a new one. “Tequila is my only love now.”

“You are _so_ full of shit,” Tucker shot back. “You're gonna cry about this for two weeks and then try again anyway.”

“I hate you so fucking much,” Grif complained. “You're right, but I still hate you.”

Tucker laughed, putting a comforting arm around Grif and pulling him close. “I hate you too, man.”

Grif struggled to maintain his bitter expression, but couldn't help the small laugh that burst forth from himself at Tucker's still-kind-of-mean version of friendly affection. “I know,” he agreed, picking up his cup and bonking it lightly against Tucker's. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Tucker echoed, taking a sip as they quietly stared off in the direction of Red base. Just as Tucker was putting his drink down, a distant sound, reverberating across the canyon, broke up their somewhat sweet moment. Grif looked confused, then horrified all of a sudden, and although Tucker couldn't hear it at first, he quickly understood once it got close enough.

“Grif?” the voice called, much louder than before. It didn't take a genius to figure out who it was.

“Oh, fuck me,” Grif breathed out. Jumping to his feet quickly, he chugged what was left of his drink and tossed the cup behind him, taking the bottle up in one hand as he did so. “Well, it's been fun, Tucker, but I gotta go!” he squeaked out, running to the ladder that led into Blue base. “See you later!”

“Hey! Give that back, I wasn't done!” Tucker shouted after him. “And don't fucking wake up Church, asshole!”

Too late. Grif was gone, probably hiding somewhere in the base until Simmons went away. He really hoped Church didn't spot him. Church may have been a shitty soldier, but he was only semi-shitty as a leader, so he'd bitch at Tucker for hours if he knew Grif had gotten inside without any resistance. Not that Tucker necessarily minded the idea of hearing Church rant for that long. It got pretty funny after a while, and, if he was being honest, kind of hot. Blame it on Church for having such a great face, and for looking so sexy when he was all flushed, and–

“Tucker?” Simmons's voice called out from somewhere beneath him.

Tucker turned his attentions from his own hopeless crush to Grif's, who was standing in front of the base, looking up at him in puzzlement. Tucker was a little surprised to see that Simmons wasn't armored, instead just wearing his fatigues – Simmons was a much more dutiful soldier than Grif, always following protocol to the letter as good soldiers did, so it was rare for Tucker to see him with his guard down at all. He would've been the perfect army man if only he'd had any actual combat skill.

Still, his lack of armor and traversing to the enemy base alone at night meant that he couldn't be assed to keep up the facade of their fake war in the moment. Which meant that whatever he was here for – and it was clear what he was here for – meant a whole lot more to him than pretending that he was a real life soldier. At the very least, in his current state, Tucker could understand quite vividly what Grif saw in him. Nerdy hotness like that couldn't go unacknowledged forever.

“Yo,” he finally greeted. “What's up?”

“What are you doing out here so late?” Simmons asked.

“It's my base, dumbass,” he retorted. “What do you think?”

Simmons pinched his lips tight at that, brow furrowing in annoyance. Oh, Tucker always forgot that he and Simmons weren't that close. Even though they'd all developed a weird, inter-team camaraderie with one another over the course of their time in the canyon, some of their individual relationships were still tenuous, and his and Simmons's was the prime example of that. Grif loved being insulted by Tucker, and Simmons loved being insulted by Grif, but that was the kind of intimacy that only came from an extended amity. And Simmons wasn't the one bringing Tucker beers every night and hanging out with him until the sun came up. So, needless to say, he probably didn't appreciate that.

Still, like fuck he was gonna apologize. “I'm keeping watch,” he went on. “It's my shift tonight.”

Simmons tilted his head slightly in confusion. “Isn't it your shift every night, though?”

Tucker snorted. “Yeah, pretty much,” he concurred. “Church is too much of a lazy bastard to do it himself, and there's no fucking way I'm gonna trust Caboose with my life.”

Simmons chuckled. “I don't blame you," he agreed. “At that point, you might as well just pull the trigger yourself.”

An actual laugh burst forth from Tucker at that, causing Simmons's careful grin to widen. Surprisingly, Tucker found himself actually enjoying the man's company. Maybe there was more to him than being a prissy wise-ass after all.

“Hey, why don't you come up?” he offered. “I'm sure there's some beer around here somewhere, and I wouldn't mind the company.”

Simmons's eyes widened ever so slightly, and Tucker noticed the small twitch of an excited smile that threatened to curl his lips. He was doing his best to hide it, but Simmons looked absolutely ecstatic at the prospect, as if he'd been waiting for it all his life. Tucker fought back a smile as a desire to both call him a loser and to give him the companionship he so desperately craved came over him. This was most certainly a guy who'd had zero friends growing up. Poor Simmons.

Still, even with how much Simmons was letting his guard down in the moment, he clearly wasn't ready to go that far just yet. It took him a bit, but after a long time, longer than was reasonable, he shook his head, managing to force a serious look onto his face. “I'm good, thanks,” he finally said. “I'm just looking for Grif right now. Have you seen him?”

Tucker smirked. “Of course I have,” he responded cryptically.

Simmons quirked an eyebrow. “Well, where is he?”

“No clue. He ran off a little while ago,” Tucker disclosed. He paused for dramatic effect. “To hide, I think.”

Simmons averted his gaze from Tucker's, his mask of stern discipline dissipating completely as a blush crept over his face. “So, he, uh, told you?” he stuttered.

“The first chance he got,” he confirmed. “You know how he is.”

Simmons laughed a little. “Yeah, I know,” he agreed, but there was an affectionate fondness in his voice. Gross.

Tucker fell silent for a moment, simply gazing at Simmons distantly, before walking to the edge of the low roof and jumping down to the ground. Simmons backed up a little in surprise, his arms coming up instinctively into a defensive pose that he quickly dropped. Tucker stepped closer. “So, I don't need to tell you that Grif is an idiot, right?”

Simmons hesitated. “No, you don't. And I should've realized it myself,” he admitted. “But at the time, I really just thought it was him pulling some fucked up prank. I was so mad, I wasn't thinking. Then Donut told me that when he'd gotten Grif with an April Fools' prank, he looked like his heart stopped and just ran off. That's when I realized.”

“Honestly, he probably thinks he blew it with you completely,” Tucker clarified. “I mean, he's been wanting you for ages. He never shuts the fuck up about it. So I can't blame him for freaking.”

“He... really?” Simmons inquired, face still flushed. Wasn't he getting dizzy? “I never... I mean, I had no way of knowing–”

“Simmons, I really can't be your love coach right now,” Tucker cut in, putting his hands up defensively. “Like, I don't have the emotional capacity to deal with that. Just go tell Grif how you feel so he can stop bitching about it already.” He turned to face the door. “Hey, Grif!” he shouted. “Simmons is here and he wants to tell you he loves you! Get your ass out here so I can go to bed!”

“Tucker, there's _people_!” Simmons hissed, frantically glancing around as if anyone was around - or awake - to hear. “I thought you said he ran off!”

“He did, but I know he's still hiding in there,” Tucker said. “Like his fat ass could get far enough to not hear me.” After a silence, he tried again. “Grif, if you don't get out here, I swear to God I'll tell Simmons about the time you got drunk and talked about how hot he is for twenty minutes!”

Simmons looked both shocked and intrigued by the admission. “Wait, for real?”

“Oh yeah. I timed it,” Tucker said, grinning gleefully. “He got real creative too.” Voice dropping to a low rumble, he leaned over to speak into Simmons's ear as he continued, “The one I remember most is that whenever you come out the shower, he always thinks about pushing you against the wall and–”

“I told you that in _confidence_ , Tucker!” Grif's voice screamed from somewhere behind them. Not a moment later, he was rushing out of the base door, looking incredibly harried. “You fucking traitor!”

“Sorry, dude, I gave you the chance to handle it yourself,” Tucker insisted. “Not my fault you're a bitch.”

“You are the fucking _worst_ ,” he bit out, embarrassment plain on his face. He turned, somewhat mechanically, and faced Simmons, but wouldn't look him in the eye. “Um... hi.”

Simmons sighed, already exasperated with Grif. That made two of them. “I hope you know how difficult it is to like you,” he admonished. There was a pause, as Simmons seemed to be considering his words. “I do like you, by the way. A lot. But you make it really fucking hard.”

Grif perked up immediately, eyes wide with hope. It was the most expressive look that Tucker had even seen on him. “You... really?” he asked.

Simmons smiled at that and stepped closer to Grif, taking his hand gently and interlocking their fingers. Grif looked both overwhelmed and puzzled, as if he still couldn't believe that this was really happening. That man's insecurity ran deeper than anyone else he knew. “No shit,” Simmons said, but his tone was full of fondness. “Now let's go home so I can explain to you, in detail, why you are the dumbest man I've ever met.”

“Yes, go home already,” Tucker groaned out, but he was grinning. Grif shot him a knowing look, and Tucker struggled to resist laughing out loud. Grif knew better than anyone that Tucker had been begging for this to happen since day one.

“Fuck yourself, Tucker,” he barked out as they started to walk away. “I've got a Warthog tire with your name on it tomorrow, you fucking snitch.”

“Yeah, sure, Grif,” Tucker mocked. “The day you actually manage to kill someone is the day Church learns what an inside voice is.”

“Oh, and speaking of Church,” Grif segued, grinning wickedly, “I hope you have a _great_ time when you go inside.”

Tucker groaned. “Fantastic. Thanks a fucking lot, jackass,” he grumbled. He stepped backward, starting to head toward the entrance to the base. “Bye, you guys.”

“Bye, Tucker,” Simmons said, waving.

Tucker watched as they turned away from him and started back to Red base, hand in hand. He was just about to turn around and enter his own base when Grif, ever so slightly, glanced over his shoulder back at Tucker. His lips were curled into a grin so big it bordered on goofy, and his face was flushed lightly, probably burning with excitement. He mouthed something as he motioned with his hand, pressing it to his chin and lowering it in Tucker's direction repeatedly. Tucker wasn't well versed in sign language at all, but that, at least, was one he recognized. _Thank you, thank you._

He grinned, giving two thumbs up in response, and Grif turned back around, disappearing with Simmons over the hill. A satisfied sigh left Tucker as he started to head into Blue base. He was never one to play matchmaker, or to even really care about the relationships the people he knew got into, but he found himself shockingly invested in Grif's case. Almost like he actually cared about him and wanted him to be happy. It was an odd feeling, going out of his way to do something nice for someone else. It was something he had never experienced. Was that what friendship was? God, that was so lame. But Tucker was still smiling, still thinking about how happy Grif must have been. So maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

As he stepped over the threshold into the base, he glanced between the hallway to his room and the ladder, weighing his options. He supposed there really was no danger in heading to bed for the night, especially since two of the four Reds were soon to be, for lack of a better phrase, banging it out for a while. There would be low risk of Tucker getting caught going to sleep early if he so chose, and an even lower one of the Reds launching an attack before he woke up.

Even so, he still found himself moving toward the ladder almost mechanically to finish out the last few hours of his watch. The truth was, he wasn't worried about the safety of his team at all. He really just didn't want to let Church down. He wanted Church to praise him, for once, for his dutiful selflessness in choosing to stare at nothing for several more hours than necessary. As much as he enjoyed Church's creatively harsh comments, it would be a welcome change to hear him give Tucker credit for the one thing he did for the team without complaint. Maybe Church would even give him, heaven forbid, a genuine compliment. His face warmed at the thought, and he was grateful that no one was around to notice.

He had barely managed to poke his head through the opening to the rooftop when, like the cruelest of ironies, he found Church waiting for him. He was laid out on his back, arms folded in his usual way, wearing only his glasses and a loose pair of sweatpants. Of course he was dressed in the most lazily sexy way possible. The universe really was just fucking with him at that point.

Church turned his head slightly to acknowledge Tucker, who sighed in defeat as their eyes met. He seemed a lot less furious than he normally would be at being woken up at such an hour, but he still had a little furrow to his brow. He wouldn't be Church if he didn't.

“Hello, Tucker,” he said, his tone forcibly neutral. “Let's talk.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think Tucker was gonna get away scot-free, did you? Grif might have the worst luck out of all of them, but Tucker is a very close second, and this time is no exception. Karma's gonna get its kiss for him in due time.
> 
> Sorry about the length - there was a lot more stuff going on in this chapter than the more dialogue-heavy first chapter, so I got a little carried away. I hope you enjoyed it, anyway!


	3. Did You Seriously Just Use The Same Cliché Twice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sure did. And I will not apologize.
> 
> In uploading this chapter, I'm just now realizing that I never changed the story from "Complete" to "In Progress" when I added the second chapter, so people may have been confused about why the story ended on such a weird cliffhanger. Sorry about that! 
> 
> This is the REAL final chapter, I promise! Writer's block hit me hard with this one, so I'm finishing it much later than I wanted to. Regardless, I really hope you guys enjoy it!

Usually, when Church reamed Tucker out, he just did it wherever they were standing, even in the middle of a battle. He was like an angry mother in a grocery store; the misbehaving kid would get the lecture wherever they were, regardless of who could see and hear. It was something Tucker simultaneously hated and admired about Church – he was shameless in a way that Tucker wasn't, and if he wasn't receiving the brunt of it so much, he'd almost find it respectable.

So Tucker was a little surprised when, instead of the usual reprimand, Church simply sat upright, patting the ground next to him. “Have a seat.”

“Seriously?” Tucker asked, brow furrowed in confusion. “You're not gonna, like, yell at me? Or call me a useless dumbass or something?”

“I _will_ if you don't sit your ass down already,” he gritted out through clenched teeth, but with no heat behind his words. Man, he was being weird. He would definitely have been screaming by now on any other night, but he seemed like he was holding himself back, for some reason. More than that, it seemed forced, like he was only _pretending_ to be angry. Maybe he was just so tired that he couldn't even muster up the energy to be truly enraged. Given the late hour, it was definitely possible.

“Alright,” Tucker said hesitantly as he sat somewhat uncomfortably next to Church, crossing his legs.

Church turned away from him for a second, producing the bottle of tequila from his side and placing it on the ground in front of them, along with two cups. They must have been cups from their own base, not the ones Grif brought from Red base; instead of those disposable plastic cups, Church had picked two abnormally large mugs with some orange liquid already in them. Orange soda, probably. It was his favorite.

“So, you saw Grif, I'm guessing,” Tucker prompted. Might as well meet his maker sooner rather than later.

“Yeah, I did,” Church confirmed, but there was none of the usual aggravation in his voice. He poured the tequila into the cups, and as Tucker winced at the sight – everyone knows you're supposed to put the liquor in first, Church, come _on_ – he continued, “We talked for a while.”

“I told that fucker not to wake you up,” Tucker grumbled. “Look, I already know what you're gonna say, and I just wanna say that it's not _my_ fault Grif bribes me with alcohol all the time, and besides, what _else_ am I supposed to do out here all night–”

“Tucker, chill out,” Church cut in. He passed him one of the mugs, and took a swig from his own. “Honestly, I don't even care anymore. You could spend all fucking night screwing around with him, and I wouldn't care.”

Tucker breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank god,” he said. “Cause I do. And we had a lot of tequila earlier, so I might be a _little_ too buzzed for you to start bitching at me anyway.”

Church chuckled lightly. “Yeah, he said that too,” he commented. “He was telling me all about what you guys were doing up here, and also the stuff with Simmons. Well, more like whining than anything else.”

“And you said 'what the fuck ever, get the hell out'?”

“Obviously. But he wouldn't leave. He just kept bitching about how he ruined everything or whatever he was saying," Church said, shrugging. "I felt kinda bad, so I let him stay.”

“So, what you mean is, he bribed you with free tequila, so you put up with him a little longer. Right?” Tucker corrected, taking a swig of his drink and flinching only slightly at the taste. It was still awful, but it beat drinking it straight like Grif had made him do. Was drinking all liquor straight a requirement for being a Red or something?

Church smiled, looking genuinely pleased at Tucker's analysis. “Exactly,” he concurred. He glanced sidelong at Tucker, a strangely lingering gaze, as he took a small sip of his drink. Tucker, frozen in place by that look, couldn't tear himself away as Church, almost sounding flirtatious, said, “Sounds like you know me pretty well.”

It was common knowledge amongst their group that the stories Tucker told regarding his sexual prowess were completely exaggerated. He certainly was not the casanova he'd tried to present himself as, nor had he ever been, and he was long past the point of thinking he could convince any of the others of it. Even with that, though, Tucker had never been a timid man. He was upfront with what he wanted, whether or not he actually got it, and had no qualms about informing others of his attraction to them. In that regard, at least, his stories of his romantic nature were accurate.

But in spite of all that, with Church's unreasonably gorgeous eyes locked firmly with his in that moment, Tucker found himself actually feeling shy. Maybe it was because Church looked particularly appealing in his dressed down state, or maybe it was the tequila coursing through his blood stream, making his body hum and his brain overthink. As the seconds wore on, though, and Church smoothly quirked an eyebrow, making Tucker realize that he still hadn't broken eye contact or responded to Church's comment, he knew it wasn't just that. Those were factors, sure, but he was avoiding the real issue. Like the fact that his “crush” had gotten a little out of hand, maybe grown a little bit bigger than himself.

In short, he was definitely in love with Church.

Finally coming back to himself, he glanced away from Church's eyes in a way that he hoped looked casual but probably didn't. “Yeah, well, all you do is talk about yourself,” he settled on, absently sipping his drink. “I'd have to be pretty fucking dumb if I didn't learn _something_ about you.”

Church grinned. “Hey Pot, I'm Kettle.”

Tucker looked up at him, putting on his best offended frown. “Is that a black joke, Church?”

Church let out a raucous laugh, causing Tucker's shoddy angry face to crack into a gleeful smile. That one always killed.

“Really, though,” Church started, wiping at a tear. “We've been stuck together for so long out here. And we spend every day together, pretty much. I feel like I oughta know more about you.”

“Doesn't shock me that your lazy ass can't be bothered to pay attention to anyone else,” Tucker shot back, still grinning. “You don't have the energy for it.”

“I pay attention to the important stuff!” Church insisted.

“You didn't even know my first name until, like, three weeks ago.”

“Well, you should've kept that shit to yourself, _Lavernius_ ,” he fired, smirking. “Makes you sound like a fucking dork.”

“Yeah, I'll be sure to start feeling bad about it real soon, _Leonard_ ,” Tucker retorted easily. Church scoffed in feigned offense.

“Low blow, you ass,” he said, shoving Tucker lightly. “It's alright, though. I'm sure I can dig up even more embarrassing shit on you, no problem.”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay,” he responded sarcastically. “You have fun with that, Captain.”

Church smiled again, but this time there was a strange, almost knowing gleam in his eye. Tucker only pulled rank when he wanted to be deliberately disrespectful, and, in any other situation, it was guaranteed to make Church furious. But for some reason, it wasn't working as intended this time. It was almost like Church had _wanted_ him to say that.

“I'll have to get it out of you a little faster than that, Private,” he said after a moment.

Tucker furrowed his brow. Okay, that was fucking weird. Banter or not, he couldn't just let a comment like that slide. “What the hell does _that_ mean?”

Church's smirk widened ever-so-slightly, and Tucker took a moment to calculate just how bad of an idea it would be to deck him in the face right there. “What do you think?” Church asked simply.

Alright, it was official. Something was up with Church. He was acting super fucking suspicious, like Caboose when he'd set the entire kitchen ablaze and tried to hide the burnt patches by scribbling over them with blue crayon. Tucker got the sense that Church was hinting at something that had to do with him, skirting around the issue to toy with him. What could he possibly know about Tucker that he wouldn't have willingly shared with him? Unlike some of the others, Tucker was a relatively open book. He didn't see the need for secrecy and playing mysterious. He was straightforward, and completely willing to talk about himself, often to the chagrin of others. Needless to say, Church, with whom he'd spent the most time, also knew the most about him.

So what was it that he was trying to tease Tucker about? Had he found his old keyboard and figured out that he was in a synth-based indie band in college? Did he happen to spot Tucker by his special rock one evening and see something no human being should ever bear witness to? Maybe he'd figured out that Tucker was the one who kept sneaking into his room and stealing stuff from his candy stash, and he was about to kill him, when no one was around to hear him scream–

“Tucker,” Church said quietly, breaking his thought process. Tucker glanced up to respond, but as his eyes locked with Church's, whatever he was going to say fled his mind completely. Church was eyeing him carefully, his piercing gaze unwavering and pulling Tucker even further into him. There was something in that look, something meaningful, but Tucker couldn't quite place it. It made his pulse race.

“What?” Tucker asked, his voice falling to a hush.

Church inched closer, and Tucker flinched, but didn't move away. “How long?”

“Church, you're not making sense,” he whispered. He didn't know why he had suddenly gotten so quiet. Or why he kept glancing at Church's lips as he came even closer, slowly, so close that their fingertips brushed. “How long _what_?”

Church's hand slid gently over Tucker's, and he couldn't mask the little gasp that escaped him. “How long were you gonna keep it a secret?”

Tucker's breath hitched. Their bodies were close now, so close that Tucker had no choice but to look Church in the face. He was feeling very jittery all of a sudden, eyes jumping around to avoid making direct contact with Church's. “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded, but his voice was breathless. He was cracking, and judging by the little smile on Church's face, he knew it, too.

“You really thought you could keep quiet about it,” he continued. He laughed softly, slightly mocking but more teasing. “That's so cute.”

“Cute? Church, what the fuck–”

“Tucker,” he interrupted. Church was almost on top of him now, his body leaning forward and hovering over his, and Tucker could feel the heat radiating from him, tantalizingly close. “You want me, don't you?”

Tucker paused, daring to glance at Church's surprisingly neutral expression. His mind was completely blank, and he probably looked absurd as he simply sat there, gawking at Church in wide-eyed surprise. Just as he opened his mouth to respond, he had a brief flash of their earlier conversation, and he stopped. He recalled who Church had been talking to before he went to the roof, waiting for Tucker to return. He let out a sharp exhale as his lips snapped shut, and shook his head slightly in disappointment at himself. Of course that was it. That was the only explanation that made sense. The alternative was too good to be true. 

A small chortle escaped him, causing Church to lean away from him slightly, moving his hand off Tucker's. He didn't say anything as Tucker continued to chuckle, steadily increasing in volume until, before he knew it, he was almost hysterical with laughter, throwing his head back just a little too hard and sending his raucous cackles up into the atmosphere. It really was funny. It was so funny, he could feel burning tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over.

“You're _laughing?_   Seriously?” Church asked. Tucker looked over at him, and was surprised to see that he looked almost pained, staring at him with a wary eye. "What the hell is so funny?" 

“Dude, you can ease up,” Tucker assured him, his laughter dying a bit as he wiped at a tear budding in his eye. Church had been pretty convincing there, he had to admit it; Tucker couldn't believe he'd almost been fooled. “I get it. That's real funny.”

“What? Tucker, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You can reel it in, dude. I get it. It's April Fools', you did the fake confession thing. I got it,” he said, his voice thinning. “You stole the idea from Grif, huh? That's pretty fucking lazy, but I'll take it.”

“Tucker–”

“Well, thanks for the drinks. If it's cool with you, I'm gonna go to bed, I'm feeling pretty tired,” he interjected a little too sharply as he hurriedly rose to his feet. Did his voice sound weird? He felt like it sounded weird. “You can finish my watch, right? I'd do it myself, but I'm really exhausted, so it'll be better if I just–”

“Tucker, _wait!_ ” Church interrupted, and Tucker inhaled sharply when a strong hand grabbed his, halting his hasty retreat. Tucker was fully prepared to pretend he hadn't heard him and rush to his room – not for any particular reason, of course, and _certainly_ not because he was two seconds away from having a breakdown – but Church was pretty damn strong, and wresting himself out of his grip would be a lot harder than just waiting for him to let go. 

He exhaled shakily, trying to calm himself. “What is it, Church?” he asked, staring hard at the ground. “You got your prank in already, and I don't have anything for you, so you win this year–”

“Tucker,” Church interjected. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Tucker turned slightly toward Church, glancing at his eyes but not maintaining contact. He'd risen to his feet at some point, probably when Tucker did, and was still holding his hand in a vice grip. The expression on his face was difficult to place, but the word _determined_ drifted into Tucker's mind. He would never have associated that word with Church, unless junk food was somehow involved. Slowly, Tucker began to realize that Church's odd behavior wasn't just him being tired, or the alcohol working on his mind. Something was happening between them. Something strange.

“Fuck, dude, what _is_ it?” Tucker repeated, failing spectacularly at keeping his voice neutral. “You already did your prank. You got me! I'm got! What more do you want?"

"Tucker, just-"

"No, I'm really fucking baffled by whatever the fuck this is," Tucker went on, voice raising slightly. "What's your problem, man? Why are you being so weird right now?”

“Why am I being _weird_?” Church parroted, genuine irritation seeping into his voice. Now _that_ was the Church that Tucker knew (and loved, but he wasn't going to say that). “Maybe because I just told you that I have feelings for you, and you busted out laughing, you ass! Why the fuck else?”

Tucker paused for a second before letting out another small laugh, a pained, wheezing chuckle that sounded so fucking pathetic. “Dude, seriously, you can stop now. I told you, I got the joke already.”

“For God's sake, Tucker, _what fucking joke?"_  Church shouted. 

Tucker went completely still, his body held in place by Church's impassioned, almost desperate stare. He parted his lips, and said, somewhat haltingly, "It's... It's April Fools' Day. I know Grif talked to you about it." His lip trembled a bit, and he paused for a moment to keep his voice from wavering. "So, you're just... pulling an April Fools' joke on me. That's what this is."

Church let out an incredulous noise, equal parts surprise and disbelief, as he shook his head. “Tucker, you've known me for a long fucking time. You know me better than anyone else in this canyon," he started, sounding almost astounded. "So you're telling me that, even though you've known me for so long, you _honestly_ think I would pull a prank as fucking idiotic as that?”

Tucker hesitated, falling silent as he stared at Church. The man had a point. He rarely, if ever, bothered with pranks, preferring straightforward insults and name-calling instead. When he did pull pranks, they were some tangible nuisance, like filling his bedroom with glitter bombs that would go off at random times, or replacing all of his beer with apple juice. He wasn't the kind to mess with people's feelings in a roundabout way. If he wanted to be cruel, or mocking, he would've just done it to Tucker's face - there was no reason for him to bother with a prank like this.

He faltered. “I... Church, you don't have to go this far, honestly–”

“Tucker, I'm through playing this game with you,” Church cut in. “I've been thinking about this for so goddamn long, and I'm sick of not doing anything about it. So you need to listen to me, because I can't be any fucking plainer about this.” He stepped closer to Tucker, tentatively placing a gentle hand on his face. Tucker at least had the presence of mind to flinch slightly before leaning into the touch, trying not to revel too much in the feeling of Church's fingers ghosting over his skin as he looked him in the eye, unable to tear his gaze away.

“I want you, Tucker," Church said, and Tucker felt like his heart had stopped. "That's it. That's the truth.”

There was no way. No fucking way this was happening right now. No way this was happening mere hours after Grif's almost identical situation. Tucker was convinced that the joke was going to end soon, that Church was going to jump away from him, laughing it up as everyone popped out from behind the bushes and derided him for his gullibility. Tucker's lip was shaking as he waited for Church's face to change, to become one of mockery and ridicule. He waited, silently, for the admission that would permanently upend his world. 

But nothing was changing. Church was maintaining his neutral expression, his imploring eyes, the placement of his hands. Tucker trembled slightly as he felt Church move the hand grabbing his down slightly, shifting so that their fingers interlocked. Almost as if acting on instinct, Tucker squeezed Church's hand lightly, not once moving his eyes from his face, and the two sat staring at each other in silence for quite some time, just waiting. 

After a moment, Church inched closer, his body brushing lightly against Tucker's and their noses almost touching. “I'm going to ask you again,” he said in a hush, the tone of his voice so painfully intimate that Tucker felt a tremor ripple through him at the sound of it. He suddenly let out a sharp exhale, and it occurred to him that he was so wrapped up in Church's face, his gleaming eyes and his plump, full lips, that he didn't even realize he'd been holding his breath the whole time. In that moment, with Church drifting even closer, Tucker became acutely aware that, joke or not, he was going to kiss Church. Regardless of the outcome, it was going to happen, and no force in the world would be able to stop him. His body was trembling in anticipation, and he kept glancing at Church's lips, barely listening to the words coming out of them. He was done for.

Church stopped inches from Tucker's lips, their noses brushing gently. "Tucker," he whispered. “Do you want me?”

Acting entirely on impulse, Tucker's free hand shot down to Church's waistband, yanking him forward so their bodies were flush with one another. “Fuck yes,” he breathed out. “Yes, yes, I want you. Now fucking kiss me.”

Church sighed softly – a sigh of relief, Tucker hoped – and closed the distance between them, his hand tilting Tucker's head up as their lips came together, slowly and firmly.

Admittedly, Tucker hadn't kissed anyone in quite a long time, so he knew it was probably a technical disaster – their lips were pressing together much too solidly, and Tucker's grip on Church's waistband was much too tight. He felt like a teenager again, having his clumsy, embarrassing first kiss under the bleachers. But when Church moaned softly, his hands falling to Tucker's waist and dragging him closer, he couldn't begin to care. Distantly, there was some analytical part of himself still functioning, noting how chapped Church's lips were and how warm his body was, but he barely registered the thought. It hardly mattered. They were kissing, after so, so long, and Church wanted Tucker just as much as Tucker wanted him, and never in his life had he felt so content and relieved.

Church backed out of the kiss, and Tucker let out an involuntary whine of complaint, making Church grin as he pressed their foreheads together. “I didn't know you were so eager for it,” he teased. 

“Don't even fucking start with me,” Tucker complained, grateful that Church couldn't see his face flushing in embarrassment. “I've wanted this for too long. Now is not the time for your shit.”

Church smiled, one of genuine affection this time, and he brought a hand up to lightly stroke Tucker's face. “Me too,” he admitted in a hush. He ran his thumb over Tucker's lower lip, and Tucker made a small noise of delight. “You have no idea.”

“You could tell me, you know,” Tucker suggested. “There's literally nothing stopping you.”

“Yeah, but where's the fun in that?” Church responded. “I'd rather you figure it out on your own.”

Tucker smiled. “You are so fucking lazy,” he teased, leaning up into Church again and pressing another, lighter kiss to his mouth, which Church returned, so soft and sweet it made Tucker's heart skip a beat. It was just a simple press of the lips, more chaste than the first one, but Tucker's trembling fingers and violent heartbeat certainly begged to differ. This wasn't anything like the kisses he'd had before, or the barely-there kisses he'd experienced in his dreams of Church that he would never admit to having. This was real.

Tucker pulled away slowly, their lips parting tenderly as he and Church stared hard at one another in awed silence. “So,” Tucker prompted. “You owe me way more of those now.”

Church scoffed, grinning despite himself. “Oh, really?” he inquired, still managing to sound sarcastic even after such a deeply romantic moment. That was Church, alright. “For what?”

“For dealing with your dumb ass for so fucking long with no payment,” he insisted. “I've been on this team for way too long to get nothing in return."

"This is your literal job, Tucker," Church said. "This is what you do for a living."

"Putting up with you is so much extra work that it deserves its own payment," Tucker retorted. "After all the shit I've had to do for you, I've definitely earned a reward. A sexy one.”

Church chuckled, one of his hands rubbing light circles into Tucker's hip. “We can figure something out,” he assured him. He laid another gentle kiss on Tucker's lips before stepping away from him, moving his hand to intertwine with Tucker's again. “But it's really late now, so I think we should call it a night. Let's head in.”

“But we–”

“Obviously, you can sleep in my bed, Tucker,” Church interrupted, trying to sound like his usual irritated self and failing. “Like fuck I'm sleeping in your room. I don't know where that bed has been.”

“Oh, fuck off. At least mine isn't covered in chip crumbs and empty bags of jelly beans,” Tucker shot back, still smiling. It had been several minutes, and his grin still showed no signs of waning. Was that normal? It didn't seem normal. Maybe he should ask Doc about that later.

“We can always cover it in something else, if you want,” Church replied, winking as he pulled Tucker over to the ladder and climbed onto it.

“You are so fucking gross,” Tucker complained, leaning over to pick up the bottle of tequila they'd almost forgotten. He met Church's gaze when he glanced up, and joked, “That's it, I take it all back. I totally don't like you at all, so you can keep your nasty jelly bean bed to yourself.”

Church leaned up swiftly, closing the distance between them to kiss Tucker's lips once more, just as sweet as before. Tucker sputtered in surprise, and Church grinned again, looking entirely too pleased by Tucker's reaction. God, he was so fucking smug. Church was so lucky that his kisses had tricked Tucker into thinking that he _wasn't_ the most obnoxious person on the planet. For the moment, anyway.

“I'd rather share it with you,” Church countered. “And I'm not afraid to make that an order, Private.”

“Hey, you were pulling rank earlier when you were flirting with me, too,” Tucker realized. He gasped, feigning indignation, but he felt his face warming as he asked, “Are you getting off on some kind of power trip right now, you fucking weirdo?”

Church smirked. “You'll just have to find out, won't you?” he responded cryptically, expression still cocky. On second thought, the kisses were good, but not good enough to mask Church's obnoxiousness. Tucker made a mental note to draw dicks on his face once he fell asleep.

“Fine,” he acquiesced, pretending to sound irritated. “Just go down the fucking ladder already. I'm gonna grab our drinks and stuff, so I'll be down in a second.”

“Alright. See you,” Church said, continuing down the ladder. Tucker unscrewed the cap on the bottle, taking a quick swig as he picked up their cups and waited for Church to dismount. After capping the bottle and adjusting it in his hands, he realized that Church's footsteps had stopped. Preparing to descend the ladder with his one free hand, he approached the entrance to the base to see Church still hanging off the ladder, almost at the bottom. He looked a little bit pensive, and jumped slightly when he saw Tucker come into view.

“Hey, Tucker?” he called up. “I forgot something before.”

Tucker took a cursory glance at the rooftop, and seeing nothing, turned back to Church. “There's nothing else up here, dude. What did you forget?”

“That's not what I mean,” Church said. Tucker watched in confusion as his face flushed slightly – a rarity only because it was not out of anger – and he stared at the base's concrete floor, not meeting Tucker's eyes.

“I, um. I should've said this before, but, uh. I love you,” he babbled. “So, um. Yeah. I do. Love you, I mean. A lot. Just so you know.”

Before Tucker could even formulate a thought, Church had jumped off the ladder, rushing deeper into the base without so much as a pause for Tucker to respond.

Tucker guffawed at Church's outburst and subsequent retreat, the suddenness of his statement catching him entirely off-guard. He'd made it back to his room in record time, the door opening and closing before Tucker had even made it onto the ladder. He wished Church would hustle like that when it actually mattered, like when they were getting shot at or were otherwise about to die, but this was good, too. Tucker climbed down the ladder and entered the kitchen, putting the mugs in the sink and the tequila in the freezer. He turned and looked down the hallway, gaze falling on Church's door. It was ajar, but only slightly, just enough to be an invitation. Almost involuntarily, he smiled, and a contented sigh escaped him.

“Me, too,” he mumbled to himself. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a pretty big fan of Tuckington, but there's something about Tucker/Church that really speaks to me. I think their relationship really encapsulates that "first love" feeling - no matter how far they get, no matter how much time passes, Tucker is always thinking about Church. To me, Tucker and Church's relationship is the perfect nostalgic memory; when Tucker and Church were together, they would argue, banter, and generally make each other's lives hell, but once Church is gone, Tucker really begins to understand just how much their dynamic meant to him. 
> 
> It's really sad in canon, so I figure it's only fair to give them a shot at some actual happiness in this story. What else is fanfiction for, after all? 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading!


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